


Unfaithful

by Hatteress (goddammitstacey)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 06x01, Episode Related, Gen, Nobody puts Baby in a corner, Other, utter crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 21:01:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddammitstacey/pseuds/Hatteress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Impala has a few choice things to say about Dean's apple-pie life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfaithful

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I have to say - my noise of distress when I saw Dean driving around in that…that thing instead of the Impala was rather loud. This is my little way of dealing with my distress. And sharing it with others. 'Cause I do that.

So, Djinn poison? About as fun as the last time he’d been dosed.

Dean had expected yellow-eyes - even Ben and Lisa weren’t a great shock to the system. Sure the horror of watching Lisa scream at him from the roof of Ben’s bedroom, red spreading across her nightgown as Ben sucked down demon blood like a banana smoothie was going to haunt him for a good long while but it had made sense. It was a straight forward nightmare. What he’d hallucinated after…not so much.

* * *

“You BASTARD!”

Dean backed up, hands raised in supplication at the glaring headlights before him.

“Baby, please-”

“Don’t you ‘baby’ me!” the Impala raged, doing quite a credible job of stalking towards him for something with no feet. “You CHEATED on me with that…that…” A car door was waved at the other side of the driveway where his yellow Pickup idled looking a bit awkward. “That piss-yellow HUSSY!”

“Hey!” said piss-yellow hussy interrupted, only to back down from one glare of the Impala’s headlights. Not that Dean could really blame it. The Impala was as fierce as she was beautiful in her anger. Dean knew he’d missed her but he hadn’t really realised how much until just now. Even with her wipers shuddering; engine growling with rage she was still just…magnificent.

“I’m sorry-” he started, only to be cut off by a sharp horn-blast of spiteful laughter.

“Oh you’re _sorry_ ,” the Impala berated, doors creaking in what Dean assumed was the car equivalent of a person throwing their hands in the air. “That just makes things all better!”

Dean tried again. “Baby, please - I never wanted-”

“Have you been under her hood?” the Impala interrupted and Dean suddenly found his mouth utterly dry as his gut flinched a little. Damn.

His eyes slid to the yellow Pickup who suddenly looked as guilty as he felt, her side-mirror’s drooping in shame. “Um…”

“You HAVE!” the Impala accused, and the sudden thread of very real hurt in her voice cut straight to Dean’s heart. “I can see it all over your face - how COULD you?!”

And he could have told her. Everything. About how he’d been running so damn hard from anything that reminded him of Sam. About how he couldn’t seem to even look at her without imagining his little brother in the passenger side seat. But when he opened his mouth, nothing would seem to come out. He was left speechless before his betrayed and angry car and it just killed him in ways he hadn’t even thought he could feel anymore.

“I’m going to Bobby’s,” the Impala announced, the purr of her engine both angry and sad as she shifted gears. “At least HE appreciates a classic.”

Dean’s throat closed up. “Baby please-”

“No,” the Impala cut him off. Dean watched her wheels straighten and her mirrors twitch as she pulled herself together, reining her dignity around her like a new paint job. “When you’ve worked out your apple-pie life and puke-coloured mistress aren’t what you need, you come find me,” she instructed. Then, with one final glare over at the Pickup she reversed down the driveway and was gone. The roar of her magnificent engine fading into the distance was like a hand around Dean’s heart, squeezing.

For a full, heavy minute Dean couldn’t move - the shock of the loss weighting his muscles like a physical force. He didn’t even realise the Pickup had made her way over to him until she spoke.

“I suggest -” she said softly. “- that when you go to get her, you take her motor oil.”

“Motor oil?” Dean said, his voice small in it’s shocked trauma.

The pickup nodded on it’s axels. “At least three bottles.”

Dean nodded, hand clenching around his keys. 

And he didn’t notice that he’d automatically shrugged off the possibility of not going after the Impala just as surely as the Pickup had said ‘when’ and not ‘if’.


End file.
